


How You Don't Know Where You Should Look, So You Look At My Hands

by Chash



Series: Weary With Right Angles [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5134643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke told herself she wasn't going to let herself get carried away when she met her soulmate. She told herself a thousand times. But she can't help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How You Don't Know Where You Should Look, So You Look At My Hands

When Clarke's parents decided to finally get the divorce, Abby tried to explain it to her, what it was like, meeting her soulmate, how it felt to see him for the first time.

"I love your father," she said. "I do. You know I do. But it was--it wasn't anything like I expected, meeting Marcus."

"You don't have to justify yourself to me," Clarke said, picking at a loose thread on her quilt, refusing to meet her mother's eyes.

"I want you to know--" Abby sighed. "I want you to understand that I _tried_ , Clarke. I want you to understand how much I wanted it to work. I hated that name on me, the whole time your father and I were together, because I love your father so much, but--"

"But not enough," she said. "It's destiny. You _knew_ it was destiny, you knew what would happen, and you didn't care, you were too selfish to wait for your soulmate to show up so you just--"

"That's not what happened. And I think you know that. But I understand why you're upset. And I hope--I hope that someday, you'll be able to see it my way. It's easy to look at your parents and think they're always right--" Clarke couldn't help a snort, and Abby smiled. "Or not. But I know it's easy to think adults have it all together. But all I've ever been able to do was my best, and that's still what I'm doing. And I'm so, so sorry that this is how it turned out."

Clarke told herself, over and over, for years, that it wasn't going to be like that for her. That it couldn't be. Her mother was swayed by the whole stupid soulmate thing, let the name make choices for her, even though she was happy before. Even though she couldn't love Marcus like she loved her husband. The first few years of having her own soulmate, she'd glare at Bellamy Blake's name on her thigh, thinking about this unknown girl, promising herself that she wasn't going to get carried away when they met. She was going to be cool and rational, really think it over.

She hadn't been even slightly prepared for the frazzled boy with the messy hair and constellations of freckles on his face, the nervous, awkward smile she couldn't help returning, and his total, complete shock when he heard her name. She'd already been feeling a little fond of him in spite of herself before they introduced themselves, and as soon as they did, it felt like everything slotting into place, and a part of her hated it, but--Finn had won her over by saying all the things she thought about soulmates, how no one would ever really _know_ the names were even right, how it took the spontaneity out of relationships, how he just wanted to make his own destiny. And she believes all that, still, she does.

But when Bellamy tells her he went through a three-year sexuality crisis, just because he didn't want to miss out on something good for a stupid reason like his soulmate's gender, it's honestly the best thing she's ever heard. It doesn't convince her he's her soulmate, not completely, but it convinces her that he's the kind of person she wants.

"So, uh, yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. His expression is caught somewhere between nervous and pleased, and it makes Clarke feel _safe_. Finn had been smooth, really smooth, and Bellamy is just a complete mess. Part of her can't help thinking it's some kind of trick, but--anyone pulling a long con probably would have tried to be cool and make a good first impression, not freak out and flail all over her. "Giant bed, like I said. You can take the right side and not even touch me the whole night."

She laughs softly. "If I wanted to not touch you the whole night, I'd just go home."

Truth be told, Clarke is a little bit lonely, these days. She's always been a quality over quantity person, when it comes to friendship, and she didn't do that well bonding with people in college. Finn was the first real connection she made, and when he went down in flames, it just made more sense to uproot her life and start over. She'd made friends with Raven, his soulmate, who's really cool, if not local, and tentative steps toward hanging out with Monty and his friend Jasper, and had been sort of half-heartedly flirting with the girl who works at the library, but--she has to admit, it's nothing like the feeling she has with Bellamy, the warm comfort of his arms around her, and a deeper sense of contentment just from being near him.

"Thanks for not," he says. "I know it's weird, just--it's been kind of an intense night, right?"

"Yeah." She bumps her shoulder against his. "Stop being nervous. I'm not wild about my dorm. Do you have a shirt I can sleep in?"

"Oh, yeah. Uh--" He roots around his dresser and comes up with an old navy t-shirt, something soft and worn that smells like him. She hates how much she already loves that scent, how content it makes her feel. "I'm just gonna go tell Miller you're staying, you can get changed. There's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet, you can shower if you need to, um--"

"I'm fine, seriously. Thanks."

He smiles. "Back in a sec."

Clarke slides off her jeans and shirt, loses her bra, and pulls his t-shirt over her head. It's a little baggy on her, comfortable as anything, and she wonders if she's allowed to steal t-shirts from him already, because he's her soulmate, or if she has to wait until they've been together longer.

Not that they're together yet. She really _does_ want to go slow. It feels risky, just rushing into something. He could still be--something else. Not what he looks like. More of a dick than he lets on. A worse kind of dick.

She finds her phone in her pocket and texts Raven, _Met my soulmate_.

Raven calls back immediately, of course. "Is she hot?"

"She's a guy."

"A hot guy?"

"A hot guy, yeah."

"And?"

She worries her lip. "He thought I was a guy too. Apparently he spent like three years figuring out he was bi, just so that he'd be--he didn't want that to ruin stuff with us."

There's a pause, and Raven says, "You like him."

Clarke can't read her tone. The two of them became friends in strange fits and starts; Raven lives in California, the other side of the country, and they've never even met. But they talk a good deal, first about Finn, and then just about their lives; Clarke consulted Raven about her transfer, and Raven consulted Clarke on choosing which incredibly complicated branch of science she wanted to for her major. She'd known Finn so long that he was almost her entire world, Clarke thinks, and she didn't have anyone else to ask.

They've never talked much about soulmates, for obvious reasons. Raven asked if she had one, and Clarke gave the name, and that was it. 

"I shouldn't have said anything," Clarke says.

"You like him _a lot_."

"I'm sorry."

"What the fuck are you sorry about?" Raven asks, dismissive. "That's awesome. I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, but--"

"I hope the soulmate thing works out for you. It didn't work out for me, but something else will. So, yeah. That's awesome. Have you fucked him yet?"

"No, I'm not--I'm not ready for that." She flops back on his bed. "But I am sleeping over."

"So you're going to fuck him after we hang up."

"No, I just--it's nice to have someone around, you know? Someone on my side."

"Yeah. Keep me posted. Send pictures. I'm living vicariously until I find a hot celebrity without a soulmate to hook up with."

Clarke smiles a little. "I'll see what I can do. Talk to you tomorrow?"

"With pictures."

She's half-asleep again when Bellamy comes in, hair damp, wearing pajama pants and no shirt, toweling his hair dry. He blushes a little when her eyes rake over him.

"Sorry, I usually just sleep in--I can get a shirt."

"It's fine," she says. "Miller doesn't mind if I stay?"

"I just told Monty, and he laughed at me, so whatever." He hangs the towel up and lies down next to her. "Were you planning to get under the covers, or is sleeping on top of the blankets some quirk of yours I'm going to have to get used to?"

"I was on the phone. Telling my ex-boyfriend's soulmate about you."

"Yeah, I can see how that's a top priority."

"It seemed like a good idea until we actually started talking about it." She worries her lip, and rolls back into his side. Clarke has always been a tactile person, but she's never quite known how to show it to people. She's always been kind of aggressive with it with Wells, giving him a friendly punch in the arm or a rough hug around the shoulders, but--Bellamy's her soulmate. He's supposed to put up with this kind of thing from her. "I wanted to tell someone."

There's no response, and when she looks up, she sees he's staring at her leg. It unnerves her for a second, until she sees the black script of his name, and then she smiles. He's not _just_ checking her out.

She takes his hand and guides it down, shivers a little when he strokes his thumb over her skin.

"Fuck," he says, almost awed, and his kiss is hungry, possessive, his hand still on her leg.

Slow is going to be _impossible_. 

He's the one who pulls back, breathing harsh, looking guilty. "Uh, I didn't mean to do that."

"No, I get it," she says, hand going back to his arm. It's almost unreal, seeing her own name on someone else's body, the certainty that they belong together. "It's okay. But--not tonight."

"I'll wait as long as you need," he says. "Just--tell me if I overstep, okay? And I'll stop."

"Yeah," she says, and pulls her feet up so she can get under the covers with him.

He wraps her up in his arms again, warm and firm, and Clarke feels all the tension draining out of her. It doesn't even make _sense_ , because her brain is still working non-stop, second-guessing, but he just feels so--

Right. It feels right, being with Bellamy, and it's hard to keep up the annoyance she wants to feel when the happiness is so much nicer and more novel.

"Go to sleep," he tells her, nuzzling his nose against her hair, and she does, just like that.

*

When she wakes up, she's alone in Bellamy's giant bed, and she expects to freak out again, but--it's still just nice. The bed is warm and soft and comfortable, and everything smells like him. 

Her soulmate. Her stupid, ridiculous, hot, _good_ soulmate. This absurd boy who seems to just want to take care of her.

There's a pair of pajama pants waiting for her on his chair, and she tugs them on and goes back into his apartment, looking around curiously. It's a fairly small place, cozy, with a few movie posters. It definitely looks like an apartment shared by two guys recently out of college who don't care too much about interior decorating, but it's clean and she can smell coffee coming from the direction of the kitchen.

She sees Bellamy by the stove with Miller, the two of them chatting easily, and Clarke gets stuck for a minute on the curve of Bellamy's jaw in profile, the glimpses of her name she can see on his arm, under the hem of his sleeve. He's smiling and looks--easy. Relaxed and happy.

He's _beautiful_.

"Hey, Clarke," says Miller, noticing her before Bellamy does. "We didn't really get introduced last night. I'm Nathan Miller. Mugs are over the sink, if you want coffee."

"Coffee's great, thanks. Nice to meet you, um--only Monty gets to call you Nate, right?"

"You can if you want, but it'll just confuse Bellamy."

"Shut up." He gives her a small, shy smile; he's wearing an apron and everything. "Morning," he says.

"Hi."

"Do you like French toast? If the answer is no, you're just getting Miller's shitty old-guy cereal."

"Dude, it's _Raisin Bran_ ," Miller protests.

"If it has bran in the name, it's for old guys," Bellamy says. He gives Clarke a hopeful smile.

"Yeah, I like French toast. Can I do anything to help?"

"Nah, you're the guest, and Bellamy's trying to impress you," says Miller. "Just have a seat and drink your coffee."

Bellamy kicks him, and Miller kicks back, and Clarke hides her smile in her mug. She's never really seen exes like the two of them; the affection is clearly there, all the love they must have had for each other, but no bitterness from the breakup, no resentment. It makes her feel--better, strangely. Maybe even if she and Bellamy can't be together, if something goes wrong, she can still keep him.

Maybe the fact that she wants to keep him is a good sign it'll work out anyway.

Monty comes in a few minutes after Clarke, wraps his arms around Miller and leans against him in an easy way that makes Clarke smile. She's heard some about Monty's insecurities with the whole soulmate thing--Jasper, apparently, is jealous that Monty found his soulmate first, and isn't into guys on top of that, and he's the only one Monty has ever talked to about this stuff. Clarke was in the right place at the right time, and she didn't mind, so she's been talking him through it. It's nice to have a friend. She knows he's never had sex before, hasn't really figured out how he feels about it, if he'll like it and is just nervous, if he's somewhere on the ace spectrum, if he's just kind of overwhelmed. Clarke has been giving him the best advice she can, and it's good to see him with Miller, to see how easy they are together. She'd worried Miller might pressure him, might be upset with a soulmate who wasn't sure about the physical aspect of a relationship, but they're as comfortable with each other as Miller and Bellamy are, and Miller's smile when he looks at Monty is full of love and happiness.

She feels almost like she doesn't fit in the warm kitchen, the clear outsider, but then Bellamy comes over with two plates of French toast and sits down next to her. "You sleep okay?" he asks, and of course she fits with him. It's fucking _fate_.

"Yeah, like a log."

"Cool." He offers a smile. "So, um, I'm just grading today while Miller and Monty try to beat some weird vampire game. If you feel like hanging out for that, you're welcome. But it's up to you."

It's the same problem she's had since she met him, the simultaneous desire to be with him and the petulant urge to run away, just because he's her soulmate, and she doesn't want to like him as much as she does. But it's so fucking _nice_ , hanging out with him. And Monty too, and Miller. Spending time with friends: what a concept.

"I should pick up some work to do," she says. "And maybe a change of clothes. But--I wouldn't mind coming back."

His smile is so stupidly perfect, and it makes Clarke's heart twist up.

She calls Wells as she's walking home. "I met Bellamy Blake," she informs him.

"And?"

"And I'm crazy about him," she admits.

"I _told_ you it was a guy."

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. He thought I was a guy too, so--everyone was confused."

"Does he like you?"

"Yeah, he seems to. His roommate set us up, he had no idea it was coming. He was really flustered. I made him snuggle with me while I told him about my parents, he told me about his mom's asshole soulmate, we made out, I slept over."

"So, that whole _I'm not going to blindly love my soulmate_ thing is going really well for you, huh?"

She rubs her face. "Shut up. He's--it's not _blindly_. I was all ready to not like him, but--" Clarke considers. "He didn't expect to get a soulmate at all, and then when he did, he thought he was straight, so--he's the kind of guy who spent years working through his sexuality just to make sure he _might_ be attracted to me. And that's--that's the kind of thing I like in a person, you know?"

"So does this mean you'll let me interview you for my blog?"

When Wells turned eighteen, he couldn't read his name. After three years of research, he knows his soulmate is most likely Japanese and has a few different possible readings for the combinations of characters, because apparently Japanese characters all have multiple readings. He started a blog to chronicle his research on the subject, under a pseudonym, mostly to avoid having people writing in pretending to be his soulmate without having background on him. Since he started, it's evolved into a kind of general blog about the whole phenomenon--statistics on how many soulmates meet, how many marry, how many divorce. He's a resource for people, and it's cool, if a little surreal.

"I still say it would be a boring interview."

"Which one of us is the expert here?"

Clarke has to smile. "I'll think about it." She pauses and admits, "I don't know what to do, Wells. I just--he makes me really happy, already. I don't know how to deal with it."

"Let him," Wells says, instantly. "If it blows up in your face, it blows up in your face. That won't be any better if you're wondering the whole time if it would have worked if you just let yourself try. And who wants to work really hard to _not_ be happy?"

She has to smile at that. "You're so wise."

"I'm renowned for my wisdom on the internets," he agrees.

"So is dril," Clarke shoots back. "That doesn't count."

"I want to come meet him soon."

"Looking forward to it."

Bellamy texts while she's finding her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ , which--she knows it's a coincidence, but she's kind of pissed she has to be reading about horrifically destructive soulmates right now. 

The sight of his name on her phone still gives her an odd thrill, which is instantly doused when she sees the message: _Told my sister about you, she's coming over after work. You don't have to come back, but I told her to be on her best behavior._

She somehow hadn't realized that he meant, when he said she'd meet his sister, that his sister was local and she'd be meeting her _soon_ , but she can't blame him or anything. She's already told both her closest friends about him, and it would be weird if he didn't tell his sister, no matter where she lived.

So she's going to meet his sister; that's fine. It was bound to happen. She finds her book and packs a few other things--toothbrush, change of clothes, deodorant, phone charger--because she has no idea if she's staying over again, but it seems stupid to rule out the possibility. She also touches up her makeup and feels ridiculous for it, because she was wearing her most casual outfit and almost no makeup yesterday and Bellamy clearly didn't care at all, but--well, she kind of wants to look nice.

_On my way back, see you soon_ , she texts him, and grins when he texts a smiley face back.

There's a possibility Bellamy Blake is exactly what he seems to be: a kind of sweet, awkward guy, hidden under a thin shell of grumpiness and sarcasm.

Monty's the one who opens the door, looking a little nervous, and Clarke gives him a smile.

"You don't still want to kill me, do you?" he asks.

"Not really."

"Cool. Bellamy's a really good guy. Sometimes it's hard to tell, but--"

"It's cool, I know." She gives him another smile, stronger. "I'm not mad. It's probably better I didn't know either, honestly. I would have been just as freaked out as he would have been."

"It's pretty weird," Monty admits. "But I think we're doing okay."

"Yeah. Miller seems really--" She tries to figure out how Miller seems, and finally settles on, "I like him. Not that we've talked much."

Monty ducks his head, flushes, and murmurs agreement, and Clarke thinks she could get used to this, spending lazy Saturday mornings with--friends.

Friends and Bellamy.

He's on the couch with a pile of papers in his lap and a pen in his mouth, and Clarke slots herself in next to him easily, settling into the perfect curve of his side, which feels like it was made for her. He barely even acknowledges her, just repositions his arm a little and presses his lips against her hair, and that's it.

It's basically awesome.

Octavia Blake breezes in around 2:30, like a force of nature. She doesn't look much like her brother on a superficial level, and Clarke thinks it would be obvious they had different fathers even if Bellamy hadn't mentioned it. But she can see the resemblance in their jawlines and their eyes, different colors, but the same fierceness and passion. 

She's a little scared, if she's being honest.

"Huh," says Octavia, looking her over.

"I told you to be nice," says Bellamy. 

"Like _you're_ nice to _my_ soulmate?" Octavia shoots back, and Clarke feels Bellamy wince. She raises her eyebrows at him, but Octavia is the one who supplies, "Bell thinks he's too old for me."

"Not _forever_ ," Bellamy protests. "I just wish you'd met him later. When you weren't eighteen."

Octavia flops down next to Clarke on the couch. "He's twenty-four, not fifty." She looks Clarke up and down. "Huh. How relieved were you when you saw her?" she asks her brother.

"I was happy, not relieved. I wouldn't have cared if she was a guy, not if she was--" He cuts himself off, blushing, and rubs the back of his neck. "You know you haven't even introduced yourself," he tells Octavia pointedly, and Clarke finds his hand next to hers and squeezes it. And then she doesn't let go, because his hand is dry and warm and she's so, so fucked.

"Nice subject change. Very smooth," Octavia teases, but the smile she gives Clarke seems genuine enough. "I'm Octavia, Bell's little sister."

"Clarke," she says, shaking Octavia's hand with her free one.

"Okay, so, be honest: on a scale from one to ten, how much of a wreck was Bell when he found out who you were?"

"O--" Bellamy starts, and Clarke squeezes his hand again.

"It's kind of hard for me to tell, since I don't have a lot of background yet. Compared to, you know, a normal person--"

"Fuck," Bellamy groans, but he sounds amused.

Clarke leans her head back against him. "He was good. My last boyfriend was really slick and also a total asshole, so--Bellamy was kind of a relief. I'll take a genuine trainwreck over some phony who acts like he's something he's not."

"Thanks?" Bellamy says, trying to sound a little grumpy, but Clarke can hear his smile.

"It's been less than a day and she's already got you pegged," Octavia crows. "Okay, I like you. Tell me more. How old are you? Are you too young for Bell? Please be too young for Bell."

"I'll be twenty-one next week."

Bellamy nudges her with his leg. "You brought me beer. How did you bring me beer?"

"Probably the same way little Blake gets beer," says Miller.

"Little Blake gets beer because she's _awesome_ ," says Octavia. "What are you playing? Can I play? I want to play."

She slides off the couch to sit with Miller and Monty, and they start bickering about video games, easy and familiar.

"So, this is a pretty standard Saturday for you, huh?" she asks Bellamy, curling in closer.

He snorts and rubs his thumb against her hand, deliberate. "Except for the one thing, yeah."

Clarke smiles. "Except for that."

*

They order pizza for dinner and Octavia and Bellamy get into a long, involved argument about toppings that makes Clarke simultaneously glad and a little disappointed that she's an only child. Bellamy brings up a time when Octavia was six and he let her get _olives_ on pizza, like this was the greatest sacrifice of all time, and Octavia doesn't miss a beat when she shoots back it was her _birthday_ , and when he was fifteen he got that pizza with _berries_ on it because he thought it was _sophisticated_.

"Do you have strong opinions on toppings?" Miller asks Clarke.

"No peppers."

"No peppers, no sausage, Blakes," Miller says. "You guys can figure it out from there. We're going to show your girlfriend how to play Towerfall."

"You get used to them," Monty tells her.

"I like how it's not even a question that I'm going to get used to them."

"It's not, is it?" Miller asks, sharp, and Clarke startles a little. She forgot, somehow, that Miller loves Bellamy as much as Bellamy loves Miller.

"No," she says. "Of course not."

Miller looks at her for a long minute, and Clarke doesn't flinch. He finally cracks a smile. "It can take a while. They're fucking ridiculous."

"Must run in the family," Clarke says. "What am I learning to play?"

Jasper shows up a few minutes before the pizza and gives Clarke a wounded, miserable look. "Are you really Bellamy's soulmate?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm the _only one here_ who hasn't met my soulmate!" he complains, flopping over the entire couch in one fluid, overdramatic motion. Clarke will admit that would suck, but she wouldn't be quite so theatrical about it. Then again, she's not sure she'd ever be as theatrical as Jasper is about anything.

"Sorry," she says, not managing any real remorse. "What's her name? Maybe I know her."

Jasper glares, but it doesn't feel that personal. "Anne Smith."

"Ouch."

"I know," he moans. "I'm doomed."

"At least Jasper Jordan is pretty unique," Monty says, in the consoling manner of one who feels bad, but has had this conversation _a lot_. "So once you find her, you'll know."

"Yeah, imagine if she was Anne Smith and you were, like, John--"

"Miller," Monty supplies. "Miller is actually the third most common last name in the United States."

Clarke hides a smile; she can just imagine the two of them in high school, bickering about who would have more trouble finding their soulmate. She remembers losing that argument with Wells, because Wells was sure that she could just google Bellamy Blake any time she wanted to, and there couldn't possibly be that many matches. He couldn't even _read_ his.

"And yet here's Nathan Miller, so--"

The pizza arrives before Jasper can fall too far into self pity, and they watch a movie and play some of Monty's obscure indie board games, and before she knows it, it's midnight, and Octavia is saying she has a party to get to.

Jasper goes to the bathroom, Clarke's pretty sure to give Monty and Miller some privacy, and Bellamy worries his lip, looking at her through his lashes.

"I guess you need to get going too?" he says.

"I should, right?"

"It's up to you." His ears are turning red, and it's cute. "Whatever you want."

She has to smile. "You want me to stay."

He looks like he's going to fight her on it, but then his shoulders slump and he lets out a sigh. "Yeah, I do. But it's up to you, like I said." He gives her a wry smile. "I know it's weird to keep asking you to stay. Monty's not even staying, and he and Miller are actually dating. But if you want to, I'm happy to have you stick around."

"I brought a change of clothes," she admits. "Just in case. And I honestly barely got to--I didn't really feel like we got to spend much time together today? Like--it was fun, but it wasn't just the two of us."

"So, yeah, don't go," he says, unable to keep the smile off his face.

"Miller won't mind?"

"No." He grins. "Okay, he'll be a little jealous you're staying over and Monty isn't, but I've been putting up with that for two months, so he'll deal."

"Okay, then. I'll stay."

If Miller's jealous, Clarke can't tell; when she doesn't leave, he snorts, tells them to have fun, and retreats into his own room, leaving Clarke and Bellamy alone and slightly awkward in the living room.

"Can I use the shower?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course, go ahead. It's, uh--pretty easy, I think? There are two knobs, they do what you'd expect."

She smiles. "Great, thanks."

He nods, but catches her wrist before she can go. "Just, one thing--" And then he's kissing her, just for a minute, almost like he's checking to make sure it's still allowed.

"That was pretty important," she teases, but she thinks she's smiling too much to really pull off the tone.

"It really was," he says, smiling back. "I've been wanting to do it all day."

It's been over thirty-six hours since Clarke's last shower, which is way longer than she generally likes to go, so she takes a while. The water pressure is way better than the dorms, and she gets to use Bellamy's soap, and--

God, she is falling for this whole stupid soulmate thing, hook, line, and sinker, and she has to rest her forehead against the bathroom wall for a minute to deal with it. She's not being rational at all. She's fucking head over heels.

She hasn't even called her parents yet.

Bellamy's warming milk up in the kitchen when she gets out of the shower, feeling more human clean and in her own pajamas. Still a little freaked out, of course, but--Wells was probably right. Nothing sucks like talking yourself out of being happy.

"If you drink warm milk before bed, I don't think you can make fun of your roommate for having old-guy cereal," she remarks.

"I never claimed to not be a hypocrite," he says. "Octavia says I'm basically an old man trapped in a kid's body." He glances at her. "Sorry for springing her on you. I realized I hadn't told her, and of course as soon as I did she wanted to meet you."

"No, it's fine. My best friend wants to meet you too, he's just not local."

He clears his throat. "Is your best friend Raven Reyes?" She frowns, and he adds, "You missed a call in the shower, I saw the name."

"No, Raven's another friend."

He nods, and then says, "I, uh--I know her soulmate too, actually?"

Clarke feels her blood run cold. It feels like a _betrayal_ , like some fucking cosmic prank, that Bellamy knows Finn. "What?"

"I know her--it's her, right? Raven's a girl?"

"Yeah."

"I went to high school with her soulmate."

The statement is weird enough to penetrate the cold, calculating anger that's starting to seep into her, and she gives him a look. "With Finn?"

"Uh, no." He frowns. "His name's Wick? Uh, Kyle Wick, I guess. Assume I don't really know any of my friends' first names." He rubs the back of his neck. "I missed something," he admits, and she feels a smile crack through, sagging against his side. "I _really_ missed something."

"You know someone whose soulmate is Raven Reyes."

"Yeah."

"And you don't know Finn Collins."

"No."

"He's the one who was cheating on his soulmate. With me."

"Oh. Fuck, right. You said you guys were friends. Yeah, uh--I promise I don't know the guy who was using you to cheat on his soulmate. But I know a guy whose soulmate's name is Raven Reyes. He's a pretty good guy."

"Where does he live?"

"California. He does engineering shit for some tech company."

"That's where she lives too."

Clarke leans on him, waiting for her heartrate to calm down. He presses back against her, and then grabs two mugs for his warm milk. "So, uh, that really freaked you out," he remarks, mild, and Clarke lets out a small giggle. "Jesus, _really_ freaked out."

"Sorry. I'm just--" She thinks it over. "I'm waiting for the catch."

"The catch?"

"You seem kind of perfect so far."

He actually chokes on his milk, spilling it all over his face. He grabs a towel, scowling, while Clarke bites back another giggle. "Yeah, um, I don't know whom you've been talking to, but--"

"You are, though," she says, biting her lip. "Not, you know--obviously you have a bunch of glaring character flaws, like being kind of overdramatic and not being smooth at all and being way too overprotective of your baby sister, and I'm pretty sure we're going to get into a lot of dumb arguments over nothing, but that's not--I like that. That's what I want. And I keep waiting for something to make it harder to want you."

"Yeah, uh--I'm okay if that doesn't happen," he says, giving her a small smile.

She sips at her milk, which is--nice. Her mom used to make it for her when she couldn't sleep when she was a kid, and it's cute that Bellamy does the same thing. "I guess I figured you'd be freaked out too."

"I am, but--I'm freaked out that I'm going to fuck it up, not that I like you. You're awesome, of course I like you." He leans against the counter, contemplating her. "I never--I guess I never got around to thinking soulmates were _wrong_. Maybe that's shitty of me, I don't know. But Kevin--that was my mom's soulmate's name--I could see how they could have been together, you know? If it wasn't for me."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault they didn't work out," Clarke says, frowning. "You didn't--"

"I know," he says, with a rueful smile. "I'm just saying, I never thought he wasn't her soulmate. I could see how he was, even though I was just a kid. I saw how they were together. Just--shitty people have soulmates too, I guess. And if he could have gotten over it, they probably would have been happy together. So once I had a soulmate, it seemed like the most important thing was not fucking it up, I guess." He shrugs one shoulder. "I figured out the most obvious way I could--which turned out to not be an issue at all--and tried to fix it. But I was always expecting to like you."

"And it doesn't--bug you? That if you didn't find me, you'd never be happy? That you'd always be looking?"

"No." She goggles at him, and he laughs. "Look, I was pretty happy before I met you. I had friends and my sister and I'm getting my PhD; I've got a pretty good life. Not that I'm not really glad you're here, I am. But I don't think I would have pined my life away. At some point I probably would have googled to see if I could figure out if you died or got married, out of curiosity, but--I don't mind being single."

"Single?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"You wouldn't find someone else? Without a mark?"

"Maybe. I don't know." He leans back, looking up at the ceiling, like it has the answer. "No, I do. I wouldn't, I don't think. Just--I wouldn't want to risk the mess. Not unless I knew my soulmate was dead or something." His ears are a little pink again. "I guess I do believe in the whole thing."

"And some people just don't get to be happy?" she asks, looking down at her mug. "People like my dad?"

He's quiet for a long time and finally asks, "Do you think your dad isn't happy?"

She opens her mouth to say _yes_ without even thinking about it, because she's always thought that. Never explicitly, never in those words, but he lost his wife and his daughter and didn't have anything else. He hasn't remarried in the last four years, not like Abby did. He's not miserable, but--he must be resentful, right? He's never said anything, but she's his daughter. He wouldn't say it to her.

"I don't know. I always thought he couldn't be."

"I don't know why some people don't have soulmates," he says. "But maybe it's because they don't need them." He looks at her, like he still can't quite believe she's here. "I thought I didn't want a soulmate, but--I did. I do. It, uh. It means a lot to me. That you're supposed to be mine. And maybe your dad doesn't need that like I do. Maybe he's okay. I don't know."

Clarke feels tears stinging at her eyes, unexpected. Maybe she's been wrong all these years, thinking her father couldn't possibly be happy again. He knew what he was getting into, told her he didn't regret it, told her he'd do it again, and she didn't know how to believe it.

When she steps into Bellamy's arms, he wraps her up, and she breathes him in, the already-familiar scent of his soap and skin, the warmth of him.

_Hers_.

"What time is it?" she asks.

"Like 12:30?"

"I haven't told my dad yet, but he's on the west coast, so--do you mind?"

"I'll grade, you can use my room," he says, kissing her on the forehead.

She checks the phone as she goes, sees Raven has texted, _Fine, don't pick up the phone, but SEND PICTURES!!_ , and turns back to the living room.

"Raven wants a picture."

"Of what?"

"You, duh."

He looks down at himself. He's wearing flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt that says _King Richard's Faire_ on it. "Can I change first?"

"You look hot," she promises, and sits down next to him to snap a selfie.

"I want that in writing," he grumbles, and she pecks his cheek.

"You're _really_ hot. See you in a minute."

Her father picks up almost immediately, sounding worried. "Hey, kiddo, everything okay? It's getting late."

Clarke smiles. "It's not even one a.m. and I'm in college."

"So you should be binge-drinking and making memories, not calling me."

"Binge-drinking and memories don't really go together."

"Seriously, Clarke."

She closes her eyes. "I met my soulmate and I need you to tell me it's okay I'm already crazy about him."

"Him?"

"Him."

"Good to know. Well, what's he like?"

"He's--great. Really. Smart and sarcastic and he--he loves people like no one I've ever met. Like they're all that matters."

"So what do you need me for?"

"I still feel like I'm being--disloyal." She wets her lips. "He asked if I thought you weren't happy, because you don't have a soulmate. And I realized I always did, and that's--that's shitty of me, right?"

"Not shitty," says Dad. "But you were wrong. I'm very happy with my life." He's quiet for a minute. "You know, the minute you were born, I decided I knew why I didn't have a soulmate. Because you weren't born yet. Because you didn't have a name. Because nothing and no one in the world is as important to me as you are."

She swallows hard, feeling the prick of tears again. "But you--you got your heart broken."

"I didn't go in blind. I knew. And a thousand things could have gone wrong, even if I had your mother's name on me. But she's alive and she's happy and we're still friends. And I'm happy too, Clarke. I've never been the kind of person who needs a relationship. If I find someone else I'm interested in, then I'll go for it. But you shouldn't feel bad for having a soulmate on my account." She hears a teasing note enter his voice. "And, frankly, I'm getting tired of telling you that, so this had better be the last time."

She laughs. "Last time. I promise." She bites her lip. "I just told myself when I met him, I wouldn't be--I wouldn't get carried away. That I wouldn't be like Mom. But I like him so much."

"I can understand why you were mad at your mother," Jake says slowly. "I wish you hadn't been, but I understand. She was doing her best with a bad situation. But you're not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're single, last I heard. Or you were, up until you met him."

"Yeah."

"And I hope he is too."

Clarke feels herself smiling, remembering what he said about dating someone who wasn't her. "He is."

"So you met a guy you like a lot, and you're excited about it. That's exactly how it's supposed to be. Be happy now, because it will get more complicated. But if it starts off easy, let it be easy for as long as you can. Don't go looking for reasons things will go wrong. Just--enjoy it." He pauses. "And know that I am unspeakably happy for you."

"Thanks, Dad," she finally manages, through the lump in her throat.

"Have you told your mother yet?"

"No. If I call her now, she'll think someone died."

"As did I, I'll remind you," he says. "You should call her in the morning."

"I will. And I'll send you a picture of me and the soulmate. We're cute."

"I was very concerned you wouldn't be cute enough. That was my number one concern."

"Sorry for calling so late."

"It's not that late here. And you know if you need me, you should always call."

"I know. I love you, Dad."

"I love you too."

Raven's replied to the picture with, _Holy shit, you hit the jackpot_ , and Clarke smiles and replies, _Trust me, I know_ , before forwarding the picture along to her father. And then she goes back to Bellamy, who is not grading even a little and is instead playing Mario.

"It's Saturday night, I realized I shouldn't be doing work," he says, when Clarke raises her eyebrows. "It's basically illegal. Did you talk to your dad?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

She tucks herself back against him. "And I like you and he's very happy for me."

"Cool. Are you ready for bed?"

"Nah. Keep playing video games. This is good."

She must drift off at some point, and he carries her into the bed, and some part of her thinks it's been just over twenty-four hours, and she shouldn't do this.

But the rest of her thinks about what her dad said, and remembers there's no reason _not_ to do this. She's twenty years old and in love with a boy who likes her back and wants to be with her.

This is exactly how it's supposed to be.

*

In the morning, they make out in his bed for half an hour, long and slow, learning each other carefully. He keeps his right hand in her hair and his left on her leg, over his name, and he never even tries to slide it up. It's sweet, but Clarke gives herself a week before she loses her self control and fucks him. But she's genuinely not ready for that yet, and she's just as happy to stick to awesome kissing and maybe a little groping until she is.

Miller's gone to hang out with Monty, so Bellamy makes breakfast alone (eggs, which he prepares by cracking a bunch of eggs, mixing them with a fork, and then pouring into a pan and prodding until they're mostly solidified) and then goes jogging while Clarke calls her mother.

She should probably go back to her dorm at some point, but she doesn't see any reason to until she needs new clothes. She's not going to overthink this anymore. She's just going to be happy.

"Clarke! It's so good to hear from you!" Abby says, her delight genuine, and Clarke gets the same pangs of guilt and fondness she always gets when she hasn't called for a while. She does love her mother, she just doesn't know how to talk to her, sometimes. "How are classes going? Are you making friends? Do you like Boston?"

"Yeah, classes are good. Everything's great. How are you? How's Marcus?"

"We're doing well. Did I tell you he's the chair of the Religion department now?"

"No, you didn't. Tell him congratulations. That's great."

"I will."

Clarke worries her lip. "I wanted to tell you--I met my soulmate."

"Oh! Bellamy? How is she? Where did you meet her?"

"She's--he. Apparently Bellamy is a boy's name. He's my friend Monty's TA. He's in grad school, getting his PhD in history. He wants to be a professor." She looks down at her hands. "I--you were right. When I met him, I just--I've never felt like this before. I didn't know I could feel like this."

There's a long pause, and when her mother finally responds, her voice sounds choked. "I'm so happy for you, Clarke. Do you think--how does he seem?"

"He's good, Mom. He's really good."

"What's he doing for Thanksgiving?"

She laughs. "Spending it with his own family, I assume. But I'll ask."

"You can let him know he's welcome. And we're looking forward to seeing you. I'm glad you're doing well, but--I miss having you close to home."

"I miss you too. And I'll see you in a couple weeks."

When Bellamy gets back, she's reading again, trying to get some of her actual homework done, because probably none of her teachers would accept _my soulmate is really hot and I didn't get anything done this weekend_ as a valid excuse for slacking off. Even if she showed them her selfie with him, as evidence.

Of course, when he gets back, he's sweaty and flushed from exercise, and the bright flash of his smile is completely distracting. Her homework is just going to have to wait.

"Call your mom?" he asks.

"Yup. You're invited for Thanksgiving, but I told her you had your own family."

"I do have my own family. But I appreciate the offer." He rubs the back of his neck. "Are you going to be offended if I go shower? I know I'm being a shitty host again. I promise I'll hang out with you after."

She considers, and then closes her book. "Can I come?"

His eyes go so wide she breaks out laughing, and he flushes. "Uh, any time you want to get naked with me, feel free. No objections here." But then he can't help adding, "You don't have to. I'm not, uh--no pressure? Right?"

Clarke laughs and leans up for a kiss. "No pressure. I've been told by multiple sources I should stop worrying about non-existent problems and wait for something to actually go wrong. Which sounds pretty awesome, honestly, so, yeah. I want to get naked and make out."

"Uh, yeah," says Bellamy, mostly looking like he just got punched in the face. In a good way. "Yeah. Cool. That's. Sure. I can--bathroom. This way."

Clarke takes his hand and tugs him, smiles when he trips after her.

She probably doesn't _need_ a soulmate. If she didn't have one, she wouldn't think it meant anything about her. She thinks she could still be happy, still have a good life, like her dad does. She thinks she'd be fine.

But Bellamy Blake? He needs a soulmate. And there's no way she's letting someone else take the job.


End file.
